


Dispatches to a Dear Friend as Repairs Occur in My Apartment Building

by FB Wickersham (perpetfic)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, snarky non-fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 14:46:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17530700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/FB%20Wickersham
Summary: My dearest Caterina: It continues.





	Dispatches to a Dear Friend as Repairs Occur in My Apartment Building

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunochka (distaff_exile)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distaff_exile/gifts).



_**May** _

My Dearest Caterina:

We have been served notice, in our humble abode, that there is to be a new roof put upon our…humble abode. It shall take, they measure, six to eight weeks, and we shall be expectant for noises associated with such labor. It is believed the work will begin the fourth of June and carry through to mid-July or possibly the very beginning of August. How I hope the weather holds fair as it did last summer, so that we may weather the repairs in good humor and spirit.

Currently, it is quite chilly in Portland, the winter rains hanging on longer than usual, but we, at least, are not suffering the temperatures bestowed upon my dear family in the South. They report 90 degrees already—so early in the season!—and so we try to take our rains with cheerfulness, as we shall surely miss them once the heat sets into our own pavement.

I do hope to learn some shocking new words to share with my dear mother while the roofers are completing their labors. I shall be certain to keep a list so that I may share them with you in their entirety.

####  _June_

My Dearest Caterina:

Work has begun in earnest! Each day, I awaken to the muffled speakings of the roofing crew. They have set up their operation directly behind our kitchen window and climb the fire escape attached there to reach their destination. The noise, thus far, is mild, with only an occasional backing truck to be truly distracting. The cool weather has held, and so we can keep our windows closed, which helps with what noise there is.

Graduation is to occur in two weeks’ time. I have purchased my robe and all assorted decorations. Mother and Father and Grandmother and Aunt (both on Mother’s side) are travelling all the distance from Arkansas to Oregon for the event. They shall only stay a few days, but they will certainly be merry days. I have begun my job search in earnest, needing to find something suitable to both my temperament and my bank account as soon as possible. Sean, as you know, continues in his own studies, so I shall be the bread winner for the time being.

####  _July_

My Dearest Caterina:

The weather and the noise of the roofing men have escalated. It has reached 90 degrees, and our attempts to circulate air with the windows open is continually marred by the now-constant ruckus from the roofing men as they go about their work. They seem to forever be backing up trucks and shouting instructions at one another. I composed a poem on the topic not two days hence, and its usefulness in clearing my head was rendered useless as the tar fumes muddled it once again. I count down the days to the six-week finish date and can only hope you will not hear of my death by heat exhaustion before that day occurs. Stay cool, my dear! I shall try to do the same.

####  _August_

My Dearest Caterina:

You may recall, from my previous dispatches, that the roof repair was in a noticeably noisy state last I wrote. It has been completed a few weeks’ time now, and I have rediscovered the poem I wrote on the topic. I have chosen to submit the poem and see how it fares. I shall keep you up-to-date.

The weather maintains its warmth, but with the job of the roofing men complete, the men themselves and their noisy instruments of work have departed, allowing the windows to be open to their full potential until late into the evening.

P.S. As I finished writing this, a maintenance man stopped by to check our pipes. It appears there is a leak in the building so bad it has shorted out the fire panel! The maintenance man was quick to assure me—frazzled as I was by such news—that there appears to be no leak at our kitchen sink and that the leak is likely coming from our upstairs neighbor. They have promised to return should they find the leak  _is_ originating from our sink.

P.P.S. As I prepared to seal this letter up, I received a rejection on that poem I mentioned at the top of this letter. I shall edit and submit again! No Emily Dickinson am I!

####  _September_

My Dearest Caterina:

Hurrah! My poem has been accepted! It shall be published in a charming magazine named  _The Rusty Nail_ —so apropos for its contents, no? I assure you, I performed a bit of a jig upon receiving such good news. It has been sorely lacking recently, as my job search continues along faithfully but—so far—fruitlessly. I shall send word immediately, should I receive a happy letter or telephone call regarding my employment status.

####  _October_

My Dearest Caterina:

The winter rains have begun, and they are determined to soak us this year, coming down in sheets not normally seen in Portland. They have brought with them a surprising leak from the roof—the very same just repaired this summer!—and apartments in need of heavy repair.

Sean and I first became aware of the circumstances upon our return from a round of errands just a few nights hence. We came in through the backdoor, as it is closer when one is walking from the parking garage, and we discovered that one of the studios in the basement had an industrial fan and large extension cord in it, obviously working to dry some sort of mess. Sean and I speculated, as one does when finding such strangeness, and could not imagine what could cause such a need.

The answer came just the day later, when we had the good fortune to speak with our Resident Assistant (a lovely woman named Katie). Katie informed us the roof—brand new!—had been restricted with the wrong size drains! These drains had not done their work efficiently and caused water to leak all the way down one side of the building. Apartments on every floor will require repair! We are, thankfully, not on the side of the hallway that was affected, but the apartment caddy-corner from us is already being reconstructed. There are workmen in and out all day—I can hear them as I prepare further job application materials—and an industrial fan runs day and night. It is barely a hum with our door closed, but it is just loud enough, once I have been asleep for some time, that I hear it in my dreams, and it jerks me awake most unpleasantly.

The work will be completed shortly, we are told, and so I imagine we shall not spend much more time with the background noise of that fan.

####  _November_

My Dear Caterina:

They are still repairing the apartment across the way. That damnable fan continues on day and night, and my equally damnable brain continues to consider it a threat once I’ve entered dream state.

I have been informed my poem about the roof repair will be published at the end of this month on the website for  _The Rusty Nail._ The irony is thick at this news.

The job hunt continues apace.

####  _December_

My Dear Caterina:

The apartment has been cold lately, to the point that I do not wander around it in less than socks, flannel pajama bottoms, a thermal shirt, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. Sean wears a similar outfit, though he tops his off with the leopard-print throw we keep on the couch. He looks fetching, but I may be biased, as he is my husband.

It has reached such a level of cold that we called maintenance in to look at the radiators. We hear them clank on twice a night, and it never quite feels warmer even if we’re sitting directly in front of them. The maintenance man reviewed them and announced the problem: the living room radiator, it appears, has been capped, and the other radiators were not turned up to compensate for the loss of the heat source.

I did not say anything in front of the maintenance man due to his politeness and quick work turning up the heat on the kitchen radiator, but I am certain—absolutely certain—the living room radiator was not capped when we first moved in. Sean believes I am remembering incorrectly, but I recall opening the bedroom radiator the first winter we were here and warm air coming from the living room radiator as a result.

Upon reflection (it has been a few hours since I last added to this letter), Sean and I have found the possible solution to the capped radiator mystery: Last winter, we spent some time back in Missouri and Arkansas visiting our dear families for the holidays. Upon returning to Portland and our apartment, we found a notice that maintenance had entered our apartment in our absence to complete emergency maintenance on a leaky radiator. They clearly inspected the kitchen radiator—the paint on the screws that hold the cover on has been cleared away—but we believe they discovered the leak was coming from the living room radiator and capped it as a way to deal with the problem.

This is, at least, my theory. Sean maintains I am remembering wrong. I have replied that he should consider that maybe he is a jackass. He has no follow-up.

####  _January_

Dear Cat:

I shall now dispense with all politeness of manner and get straight down to business: Were it up to me, I would move out of this hellhole immediately and take up residence in a roomy cardboard box. Perhaps a refrigerator box for an industrial unit. It would be large enough, I think.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Allow me to tell you a story: Mid-month, just before Sean’s birthday, we received notice that maintenance would need to enter our apartment to investigate a leak under our kitchen sink. I wondered if the supposed leak from the summer (see my letter from August) had finally sprung in our wall. I was, it turns out, partially right.

The maintenance crew came with many tools, and so I exited to the nearest Starbucks because I am still unemployed and purchased a luxury cup of coffee and sat with my book and read for awhile and waited for them to do their noisy work. When I returned home with Sean (having met up with him during the interim), we entered an empty apartment, our kitchen strewn with bits of the kitchen itself, and a new drain and u-pipe clearly added to the sink. The shelf and drawer hold from the cupboard to the right of our sink were resting against one wall. The drawer in question was on top of our fridge, and the contents of our cupboard were on our kitchen table. The wall behind and below the kitchen sink was completely torn out down to the studs.

There were no maintenance men in the apartment or a note to inform us where they had gone or if they would be back. We assumed them on break. After an appropriate break interval had passed, Sean called the housing office—they are in charge of sending maintenance out for repairs such as ours—and he was informed they had been called to an emergency in another building.

Twenty minutes after this phone call, a man showed up at our door to take away the boards and clean up our floor. He was very nice and informed us the inner wall would need to dry out before new sheet rock could be placed. He speculated it would take two days at least.

I asked about the leak—curiosity never failing me—and was informed that it was, in fact, the self-same leak from August! But I had been informed we didn’t have a leak, if you’ll recall. This, apparently, was a flat-out lie on the part of the August maintenance men. There had—I was informed by the current maintenance man—always been a leak in our wall, and they had to leave it to fester because the fire panel it had shorted out had to be moved before they could complete the work.

The moving of the fire panel was apparently a topic of some contention, and it has taken until now ( _January_!) to move the fire panel and start to make the needed repairs to our apartment.

But, not to worry! The sink is fully usable in the interim. I will keep you updated on changes as they occur.

P.S. It is hours later. It has just occurred to me that the quarterly fire alarm, which has always occurred in the first week of the new academic term, occurred just a few days ago, during the third week of term. I am concerned this delay was caused because the fire alarm was not working because it had been shorted out in  _August_ and not moved until recently. I will now go to bed horrified after the fact.

####  _January, second letter_

Dear Cat:

The sheet rock man came on Friday and informed us there was still damp in the inner wall that had to dry. He promised to return Monday. On Saturday, the weekend maintenance man showed up. At first, I thought he was going to check the level of damp under the sink and that, maybe, we would get the hole patched. I was hoping this rather feverently because the cold air coming in from that hole and the general warm air of the rest of the apartment has begun to give me a chest cold that I’m concerned will become bronchitis, given my susceptible nature to it.

It was not to be. The weekend maintenance man just needed to check if a clog from the upstairs sink had cleared our drain. We share a pipe, he told me, and that means that clog could become our clog if it hasn’t fully cleared a certain point in the pipe.

On Monday, the sheet rock man returned, but I had suffered a serious case of insomnia the night before, and Sean asked if it would be possible for the man to return the next day. He said he could come by Tuesday or Wednesday, and Sean said Tuesday would be fine. It is now Thursday. We have not seen or heard from him. Sean is currently calling Housing to see what is happening.

While he does that, I will tell you of a minor irritation that happened on Friday: After being assured on Wednesday that our sink was safe for use, I finally got around to doing dishes on Friday, only to find myself in a puddle of water. I assumed I had flung some water to the floor while vigorously scrubbing a pot. I mopped up the water and continued to work, only to end up in another puddle of water. I investigated and discovered one of jointing pieces in the pipe had not been properly tightened when the new drain was put in, and this was the cause of the leak.

When I reached out to adjust the joint, it spun in my hand. While I was not pleased at how obviously loose the piece was, it was easily fixed.

Sean is off the phone now. Apparently, the leak is worse than they first realized, and the reason we have not seen the sheet rock man again (though he left the sheet rock in the hallway) is because the plumber needs to come back in and investigate if they need to remove more of our wall. He has not been in yet because he has been sick for three days. Housing has apologized for not keeping us in the loop.

I am running out of the last of my patience.

P.S. I just received information from  _The Rusty Nail_ about a contributor’s copy for their January issue. Apparently, they ran my poem about the roof repair in their print issue as well as on their website. That poem has lost all charm in the last few months. I will be passing on owning a copy of that poem in print.

####  _February_

Cat:

We got word that maintenance (I assume the plumber we’re still waiting for unless it’s actually the sheet rock man)  _might_ enter the apartment to make repairs today. No one has shown up. This letter was meant to inform you that I’ve been offered a part-time job and was just today offered the chance to interview for a full-time position. This is joyous news after such a long job hunt ( _eight months!)_ but all I can concentrate on right now is the giant hole that is still in my wall and the fact that the drawer with all my kitchen utensils is now entering week three of sitting in my goddamn desk chair.

My patience is officially gone. I am on the verge of wearing my mixing bowls as hats to get them off my fucking desk.

Forgive my harsh language. These repairs feel never ending.

P.S. I held off on posting this letter in the hopes that I could relay some good news by the end of the week. Here is the good news: After yet another call to Housing, which led to them asking for Sean’s phone number so they could call him back, two maintenance men showed up at our door. To inform us a maintenance man would be in Monday to finish the repairs. We’ll see.

####  _February, second letter_

C:

They arrived on Monday to inform Sean they would be in on Tuesday to make the repair. Never have I had a stronger case of the goddamnfuckshits.

In good news, I have been informed my first interview for the full-time position went well, and I am moving into the second phase of the process as we speak. I am also enjoying my part-time position very much, so no matter the outcome of the interview process, I will be employed at a job I enjoy, and there are many people who cannot say the same.

My utensil drawer continues to live in my desk chair. I purposely used the mixing bowls while making dinner just yesterday and hope they will be allowed back into their cupboard before I get around to washing them.

####  _February, third letter_

I GOT THE JOB! The full-time position! It’s mine! I just received word not ten minutes ago, and after all the necessary calls of celebration were made, I sat down to write you this note. I will start Wednesday, giving me two more days at the part-time job so I can leave them in a strong place upon my exit. The people at the part-time job were exceedingly gracious and happy at my news, and it made the celebration that much brighter.

P.S. I nearly forgot in my excitement: The maintenance men actually arrived and fixed the wall on Tuesday as promised! Imagine! I did not get the chance to write you and tell you due to all the work surrounding the process that has now landed me a job. Our cabinet still lacks a shelf, and our drawer still lives on the chair, but we have been informed the man will arrive in the next day and get it fixed back to rights. I do believe this long process has finally come to an end.

P.P.S. It has been three days. There has been no sign of the man who is supposed to put our cabinet back to rights. I fucking quit.

**Author's Note:**

> This is all based on true events. The only embellishment is that I was swearing a LOT more.


End file.
